"Ah! so much the better."

The important matter to which Frantz referred was his marriage to Desiree
Delobelle. He had not yet mentioned it to any one, not even to her; but
Mam'zelle Zizi must have suspected something, for she became prettier and
more lighthearted from day to day, as if she foresaw that the day would
soon come when she would need all her gayety and all her beauty.

They were alone in the workroom one Sunday afternoon. Mamma Delobelle
had gone out, proud enough to show herself for once in public with her
great man, and leaving friend Frantz with her daughter to keep her
company. Carefully dressed, his whole person denoting a holiday air,
Frantz had a singular expression on his face that day, an expression at
once timid and resolute, emotional and solemn, and simply from the way
in which the little low chair took its place beside the great easy-chair,
the easy-chair understood that a very serious communication was about to
be made to it in confidence, and it had some little suspicion as to what
it might be.

The conversation began with divers unimportant remarks, interspersed with
long and frequent pauses, just as, on a journey, we stop at every
baiting-place to take breath, to enable us to reach our destination.

"It is a fine day to-day."

"Oh! yes, beautiful."

"Our flowers still smell sweet."